


Jackrabbit Rock at Casterly

by CaptainTarthister



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bunnies, Comfort, Costume Kink, Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Halloween Costumes, Ice Play, Jaime is Horny, Married Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, brienne is horny, female worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 07:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16488494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: “Seven hells,” he murmured, staring at it. He looked up at her.“I told you.” She tried pulling her panties back up, but he stopped her.





	Jackrabbit Rock at Casterly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catherineflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/gifts).



> Another fic request from catherinflowers! For the life of me, all I know is we weren't talking about bunnies when this came up! 
> 
> Never mind, I was happy to write it. It was fun. And after Dark Windows, I need mindless smut! 
> 
> Thank you, dear, for the prompt and holding my hand and cheering me on. A shoutout to kristilove too, who likes calling me a perv :-) I use it as Jaime's nickname here, sort of!

**Jackrabbit Rock at Casterly**

_Gods damn it!_

Mustering the only degree of politeness possible with the fire eating at her cunt, Brienne nodded, eyes wide with desperation rather than curiosity. But Ned Stark continued rambling about the benefits of veganism. Dressed as a wolf, with his head sticking out through the hole between the ears and the body, his solemn, passionate delivery belied what ironic, comic effect his lecture could possibly have. He knew how to capture the audience—his wife, Catelyn, looked at him with bug-eyed fascination, as if this was the first time she was hearing this. She wore a long, tousled dark wig that flowed all the way to her waist, as well as a gleaming silver bikini top that came with a matching fishtail.

Brienne was sorry, really sorry, when Jaime started to speak. But she really couldn’t hold it any longer. Spying a server holding a tray of cocktails, she pretended to sigh in relief and held out her arm. “Excuse me, but I’m parched.”

With that, she slipped away from the circle and practically dived toward the other guy. He barely stopped long enough for her to snatch a glass of Dornish champagne. She slammed it down her throat, past caring that Cersei would be scandalized at having such a fine, very fine beverage, shotgunned. Slamming the flute down on one of the cocktail tables, she hurried out of the ballroom, hoping to the Seven that one of the three first-floor guest bathrooms were empty. _The itch on her cunt was going to fucking kill her._

Security, the only people besides the catering staff not in costume, stood by the two sets of double doors. Brienne all but ran towards one, as fast as her stilettos could carry her without drawing attention. The four-inch shoes were already impossible to walk in, and with the crowd twirling and walking and doing Seven knew what else in all directions made navigation as treacherous as on the Smoking Sea. _Had Tywin invited all of King’s Landing?_

“Open the door!” She growled, lurching forward. The guards sprang into action, nearly pushing the doors off their hinges to let her through. They closed behind her and she groaned, looking around. Did Tywin have CCTV cameras indoors? Later, she thought, heading for one of the bathrooms.

Luck blessed her at the first door. Brienne went inside, locked the door. Groaning again, she collapsed against the door and swept aside her thong.

In the mirror, she stared at her pale fingers moving along the paler patch of naked skin below her navel. Her reflection wasn’t too far away but she could see clearly how red and swollen her cunt was. She moaned from the pleasure of her short, clipped nails scratching it. The waxer had warned her about the itch and given her cream to counter it. But she was an idiot and didn’t even bring the small bottle—not that there was anywhere in her costume to stick it in.

She scratched until the burn and itch eased. She fixed her thong, straightened the garter belt. Made sure her little tits didn’t accidentally pop out of the bustier. She approached the mirror with a scowl on her face.

The annual Lannister Halloween ball was the biggest party of the year and everyone from Westeros was desperate to attend. Tywin Lannister, top businessman and also one of the most sought-after economists (the president had him on speed dial), spared no expense. Fountains of Dornish champagne. Gourmet food from The Reach, prepared by chefs flown in just for the occasion. Intricate ice sculptures from Winterfell, the craftsmen also flown in just for the night. The freshest seafood from Riverrun. Chocolates encrusted with edible gold from Casterly Rock. Performers from Volantis. Sky dancers from the Eyrie. The ball was always a bacchanalian feast, topping the previous year’s.

And rolling along the running joke of Tywin Lannister shitting gold, the Lannister patriarch had vowed to match the two hundred thousand gold dragons the ball hoped to raise. This year’s beneficiary was The Little Birds Orphanage. Suffice it to say that while everyone waited for bated breath for the hand-delivered crimson-and-gold invitation, Tywin made sure only those with money to give would attend. No one had ever refused the invitation.

Tywin’s children, Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion, were always in attendance, as well as their spouses. Tywin had been at the door earlier to greet the guests, and was fittingly dressed in a black hooded cloak over a black shirt and tailored trousers as The Stranger. He had not been too pleased when Tyrion came up in a three-piece business suit and a golden blond wig over his unruly ash-blond curls, his little mouth curled in displeasure. Margaery, his wife, had beamed, herself wearing a wig of gold and dressed in a high-necked, gold lame bodysuit. When Tywin asked who Tyrion was dressed as, Tyrion had cheekily replied he was dressed as Tywin, and Margaery as gold.

The Starks, Ned and Catelyn, never dressed as a couple, hence the wolf costume for him and her as a mermaid. Euron Greyjoy, as expected, was dressed as a pirate but his niece and nephew, Yara and Theon, were dressed as sharks. Roose Bolton came as a vampire, and his wife, Walda, a swooning maiden, complete with a red make-up on her neck in imitation of a bite.

Cersei and Robert were dressed as a couple too, sort of—and, like Tyrion, in a way that ensured Tywin’s annoyance. Robert, at six-foot-five, incited laughter as he swept into the Great Hallway with a long, golden blond wig and a gown of rich, red brocade with full bell sleeves. He  had not shaved his dark beard. Navy blue eyes twinkled at Tywin’s aghast expression, and never faltered when it turned into a scowl. Cersei, her long hair crammed under a boy’s wig, sauntered in, proud in her knight’s armor. It did _not_ help that she leaped with a giggle in Robert’s arms before carrying her into the ballroom.

By the time Tywin saw Jaime and Brienne, he was resigned to the crazy costume stunts of his offspring. He took one look at their costumes, staring blankly at their bunny ears then nodded them along.

Jaime was the fun, creative one between them. And really pushed the envelope with the costumes sometimes. One time, he swore Tywin came close to disowning him when he and Brienne showed up as Cellmates Jaime and Warden Brienne. Tywin didn’t make sense of their costume until Jaime bent over and Brienne, blushing furiously, positioned herself behind her husband. A photographer with quick hands snapped a photo. It became the headline in the papers the next day and trended on social media.

This year, he suggested bunnies.

They were in bed when he told her, nibbling on her ear in the sweaty aftermath of another _amazing_ fuck. She played with his damp hair while pressing for details. Bunnies, he had said, smiling as her finger traced the elegant line from his cheek down to the center of his square jaw. _Big ears, your gorgeous eyes, your freckles and blush. A sexy bunny you are._ It made her giggle and pink, and she draped her body half on top of his, her heart bursting with a fresh surge of love. Yes? He’d asked. She nodded and he claimed her mouth with a searing kiss, hand lowering to her semen-soaked cunt.

Believing in preparation, Brienne left nothing to chance in the two months she prepared for the ball. Her body was still good, although the twelve pounds on her ass from giving birth to twin three years ago stubbornly stuck around. She went on a low-carb diet, increased her weights, alternated yoga with running on the treadmill. Firmer, leaner in body, and with increased endurance for their all-night fuckfests, she eagerly wore out her equally-delighted husband.

It still didn’t make looking in the mirror any easier once she put the costume on, though. Brienne wore bikinis but only when alone with Jaime. The silk, blue bunny ears, the matching bustier trimmed with black lace, the black garter belt and though, sheer stockings and stilettos were. . .well, she had never seen so much of her skin until now. Nor her freckles. But Jaime said he wanted a sexy bunny and. . .well, the bustier gave her cleavage. She didn’t look bad, that she could say. The display of bands of pale, unblemished skin was just a _tad_ overwhelming.

Jaime was coming straight from a meeting, so he would already be in costume when he picked her up. She wondered how her husband was going to be a sexy bunny (he was sexy, but a bunny?) but trusted him to pull it off.

She was putting on her coat when he arrived at the townhouse. Getting the shock of their lives, they could only stare at each other. Jaws hit the floor as he took in her skimpy costume, lingering on her legs, while she shook her head at his fluffy, one-piece bright blue bunny costume, his handsome head fitting perfectly through the hole. On top were huge, floppy ears.

Recovering quickly, Jaime ogled at her openly, making her burn from head to toe. She knew she wasn’t very attractive but was no longer so self-conscious about her broad nose and thick-lipped, wide mouth. Because of him, she learned to love her homely face. It would never be the face that would launch a thousand ships but for Jaime, they called for as many kisses and more.

He wanted to fuck her, he hissed, his emerald eyes dark with desire as he caught her in her arms and looked up at her. There was no mistaking the erection poking at her thigh, even under all that bulk and fur. Her knees were beginning to knock and she was a little out of breath too—what woman wouldn’t be, when stared at like her husband was doing—but she shook her head, biting her lip as he pretended to pout, told her how sexy she was, that she enjoyed torturing him.

Tywin had just waved her and Jaime along but Robert took one look at her legs and high-fived Jaime, who was frowning. Cersei cast an admiring glance at her costume but narrowed her eyes at Robert before dragging him away. Margaery thought she looked magnificent. Tyrion, looking even smaller, declared he liked looking up at her. Jaime shot him a warning look and steered Brienne away. But every people they passed and recognized them rained praises on her legs. She even overheard Euron Greyjoy saying to a man dressed as an Unsullied that if he’d been married to legs like hers, he’d ride them day and night.

So much for looking sexy, she thought, fixing her bunny ears and glaring at herself in the mirror. She yanked the small tube of lipstick tucked between her tits. She lined her lips then pushed it back down her bustier. There was nothing sexy about scratching, especially your cunt! And the blasted thong, she thought, squirming as she adjusted it. It was a fucking torture device.

The hellish itch abated for now, she turned and left the powder room.

She turned around the corner to go back to the ballroom only to run smack into a tall, human-sized bunny. A rich, familiar chuckle filled her ear and she laughed too, reddening upon remembering who was in the costume. “Jaime,” she whispered, smiling back at his grinning face. It was all she could see of him from the bright, blue bunny costume.

 “Babe,” he said, catching her as she teetered in her heels. He looked up at her. “What’s wrong? You practically ran out of the ballroom.”

As he spoke, his furry hand (paw?) brushed the pale hair from her face—or tried, anyway. She caught his hand to press it firmer on her cheek. He looked adorable in his bunny suit. Concern made him even sexier—enough for her to think about having more of his babies. She lowered her head as her cheeks pinked, squeezing her thighs closed as honey began to pool in her cunt.

“You’ve been distracted,” he said, drawing her close until he was leaning against a door. Her blush turned more vivid and he kissed her, to comfort her. Distracted didn’t begin to describe her discomfort. Peering at her, he threw an around her waist and led her inside the room.

She blinked at the darkness, making out only the shapes of shelves, a sofa, a massive desk, chairs. Tywin’s study. It smelled faintly of smoke. _Tobacco._ Her father-in-law had that habit.

Though it was dark, she knew how to move around the room, having memorized the placement of furniture. The sofa against the wall, by the door, a low coffee table, Tywin’s huge, mahogany desk by the window, with a leather armchair. To the side of the desk were bookshelves containing classics in literature, economics, political science, laws and maps.

“I know,” she said, throwing her arms around Jaime. Inadvertently rubbing against his furry costume, the itch on her cunt came back with a vengeance. She hissed, embarrassed.

“What’s going on?” He asked, as she pulled away, glaring at her crotch. She stomped towards the desk, wobbling in her shoes in the dark. She stepped out of them and sat at the edge. Remembering a lamp there, she pawed the air for it, until its cool, steel surface greeted her palm. She flicked it on and sat dejectedly on the edge of the desk, crossing her arms. Her sapphire eyes were hooded with helplessness.

“Brienne,” he coaxed her gently, leaning next to her. “Are you ill? Do you want us to go home?”

She shook her head. “No, no. I’m not sick. I’m just. . .”

As her voice trailed off, her face reddened swiftly. Jaime cocked his eyebrow. She bit her lip, getting some lipstick on her teeth.

“If you’re not sick, then what?”

“I did something.” She whispered, her heart pounding. “And. . .” she glanced at her crotch then back to Jaime, her eyes pleading.  What she did wasn’t embarrassing. It was the effect! _Damn it!_

He stared back at her in confusion.

“Do you—do you need a tampon?”

“No! Sorry,” she added quickly for he’d jumped at the vehemence in her tone. Blushing, she just decided to be out with it. Eyes squeezed shut, she blurted out, “Jaime, I got a Brazilian, so there’s no hair down there and it fucking itches like a motherfucker.”

She whimpered, throwing her hands to her face. She listened to Jaime shuffling to his feet and then his paws were pulling her hands away. She dared open her eyes, sniffling. He looked at her with a mix of confusion and sympathy.

“A Brazilian? Come here.” He hugged her to his side and she dropped her head on his shoulder. Rubbing her back, he continued. “That’s what’s been bothering you all night?”

She nodded. “It’s because of the costume. I. . .it’s the thong and it’s really tiny.”

“I know.” He drawled suggestively. At her frown, he cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. It is. Looks nice on you.”

“That’s because I got rid of all the hair.”

“All the hair?” Jaime paused in caressing her. She straightened up, careful in rubbing her eyes to not upset her mascara. “You mean there’s still a landing strip. Or that little patch. . .?”

She shook her head.

He cleared his throat. “All hair is gone?”

“I’m totally bald down there and it itches non-stop.” Brienne glared between her legs again. “I should have just trimmed it. Or just waxed the edges, instead of the entire thing. Or you know, if I wasn’t so hairy to begin with.”

“Come on.” He hugged her again, kissing her on the cheek. Nuzzling her ear, he whispered, “You seem to forget that’s why I fell for you.”

Despite how she was feeling, she smiled. They first met in a locker room. Truly one of the most mortifying moments in her life. Trying to see through the sweat filming her eyes landed her in the male locker room. Eager for a shower, she hadn’t bothered to check for her locker first and went right to stripping. Shedding the last of her clothes, she stood up, just as a man straight from the shower, his towel flung over his shoulder than around his waist, rounded the corner and towards her.

They had stared at each other in open-mouthed shock—her from the mistake and the size of his cock, him from her cunt. It required real effort to look at his face, and she caught him still staring at her cunt, and a dinner invitation falling from his lips. When she snapped and threatened to punch him in the balls, he looked at her face and repeated the words.

Jaime _worshipped_ her hairy cunt. There was hardly a morning when his tongue wasn’t fucking her,  or his hand wrapped pressed possessively in sleep.

She closed her eyes as he took her lips. “You have a woman’s cunt. I love the hair.”  

“Perv.”

“Fucking yeah. For you.” He cupped her by the head and drew her close.

He tasted of wine and spiced meat, with a dash of dark chocolate. Moaning, she rubbed her tongue against his. He could be a gentle kisser but it was the rough brushes of his mouth and tongue that made her drip. Her hands skimmed down his chest, feeling the hard outline of muscles under the plush material. He suddenly turned away from their kiss to grab her hand, pressed a hard kiss on the palm before returning to her mouth. She gasped as his paw slid down to the boned bustier, cupping her tits before sliding down to her waist. Her breath was swift and deep when his palm rested on her cunt, rubbing her through the satin.

“Fuck, Brienne. You weren’t kidding about the hair, were you?” He murmured, nibbling her lip before kissing her again. She gasped, closing her thighs around his furry hand. The ache in her cunt called for the thrust of his fingers, his cock. But as the teeny triangle darkened from her moisture, it stuck even more to her cunt. . .making her itch. His kisses muffled her growl and he started nudging the panel out of the way.

Remembering how her cunt looked, she shook her head and pulled away. “No, don’t,” she said, reluctantly removing his hand. “Jaime, it’s all red.”

“That bad?” he asked. “Show me.”

She almost fell off the desk. _“What?”_

“If it’s inflamed, don’t you think we should have a doctor look at it? What if you’re allergic to the wax? Or whatever was used on you.” Jaime kissed her again and she kissed him back. “I’m sorry you felt you had to. . .you know. And for not making it clear what kind of bunny costume you should have.”

“It’s not your fault,” she assured him. “Although. . .you did say sexy bunny or something like it so. .  .” she gestured at her outfit.

“You _are_ a sexy bunny,” he whispered, grinning at her bunny ears before another round of passionate kissing. He licked her lips. “With the sexiest mouth, the sexiest, unbelievably long legs, the most beautiful sapphire eyes. . .”

And then they were kissing again, with Brienne lying on the desk and Jaime bent over her. It was heaven, being like this, even on very uncomfortable furniture. He stroked her leg through the stocking as she wrapped it around him.  

The furs on his onesie felt rough on her sweaty skin and reminded her of hair.  His cock nudging against her cunt caused more irritation. Her thighs were already sticky and the fake fur was beginning to stick and get spiky.

Her kisses faltered as the rubbing awakened the itch. He sighed and pushed himself off her. She sat up, frowning and disappointed. Then Jaime got up from the desk, caught her in the eye then looked pointedly between her thighs. By now the thong was almost black from her juices.

“Let’s see it,” he coaxed her gently.

 _“What?”_ She shook her head, blushing furiously. “Jaime, it doesn’t look nice.”

“Baby, I’ve seen you hungover, I’ve seen you look like a clown with that face cream. You never looked nice and I still want to fuck you.” She squirmed, gasping softly as she felt her cunt drip from his words. Catching her reaction, he suddenly grabbed her by the hair and arched her over the desk. Shoved his tongue past her lips. She clung, her tongue eagerly tangling with his as his erection rubbed against her knee.

Alright. She believed him. Not that she ever stopped. Her husband was a wonderful mix of vulgar and sweet and she loved him for it.

His kisses softened but his cock was harder than ever—even in the dark, she could see the tenting of his costume. He licked down her sweaty neck, nibbled on her collarbone before reluctantly pulling away. She leaped off the desk, dragged the lamp closer to them.

She unclipped the garters from the stockings then hesitated. He was there again, kissing her, on the forehead this time. Grateful for his support, she kissed him back then pushed her panties down.

Jaime knelt, placing his pawed hands on her hips to turn her to him. She pulled the light closer, quite embarrassed at the state of her cunt. Soon after the wax, it had felt smooth—so smooth she couldn’t stop touching it. But as the hours passed, the cream applied to stave off an irritation rubbed off and the worst itch of her life took over. The skin, paler than the rest of her, was now an angry patch of red-pink.

“Seven hells,” he murmured, staring at it. He looked up at her.

“I told you.” She tried pulling her panties back up, but he stopped her.

“Does it hurt?”

She shook her head. “It’s just a never-ending itch. I don’t think it’s infected or anything. I thought there was only going to be some itching—not something straight from Seven Hells.”

“Poor baby.” She played with one of his bunny ears as he suddenly kissed her. The brief brush of his warm lips made her forget the itch and then he was pulling away. Since this was the point of no return, she saw no reason to stop herself from scratching.

“Stop, stop,” he said, pulling her hand away. “Scratching will make it worse. Wait here.”

“What are you doing?” Brienne asked as he went to Tywin’s sideboard.

“Father drinks scotch on the rocks so the ice is always replenished,” he explained, removing the cover from a black lacquer bucket. “Ah. I was right.”

She watched him bring the bucket to the floor by her feet and him getting back on his knees. “What---what are you going to do?” She asked.

He smirked. “Just spread your legs and feel.”

“Jaime!” She exclaimed, realizing his intention.

“The ice might at least numb it for a while.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

 She leaned against the desk and spread her legs as far as the panties around her knees would allow. He chuckled and pulled it down, taking one ankle at a time to remove it. Her breath sped up, for despite her discomfort, she was sexually charged, and was almost giddy with it. Jaime made no attempt to hide his lust too, watching her as he sniffed the thong deeply.

“You should put your used panties in my lunchbox too, love. _Fuck._ ”

_“Jaime.”_

“BLT with a side of pussy will be my favorite meal ever.” He teased.

“Gods, you,” she murmured, her breath coming out in shallow, harsh puffs as he took a deeper whiff of the thong.

“Damn. Nothing should smell this delicious.”

He smiled at her blushing face and pushed it in a pocket of his costume.

Though she really wanted to scratch, she was enthralled by longing on his face, at the softness of his emerald eyes. She spread her legs, just enough for her slit to part and reveal her clit. A soft squelching sound rose.

Red and angry as her cunt looked, Jaime stared at it like a man who had gone to Seven Heavens. She shivered, despite the sweat coating her body. Her bustier was beginning to feel very tight.

He clamped an ice cube between his teeth then pressed his face to her cunt.

She hissed, startled by the cold. Gasping, she gripped the edge of the desk and threw her head back, spreading her legs some more. _“Jaime.”_

Holding her, he rubbed the ice up and down the thickened, swollen skin of her cunt. It was an intense balm on her heated skin. She moaned from his cold kisses, the relief from the itch. Rubbing the ice on one of her cunt lips, he took one of her legs, draped it over his shoulder. “Gods,” she gasped, staring with wide eyes at the dark ceiling briefly before turning back to Jaime. She grabbed a fluffy bunny ear.

Still holding the ice between his teeth, he thumbed her labia open. It was cold lava on her clit, mixing with her sticky juices, his spit. Her grip on the ear tightened while her nails dug on the mahogany desk. Shudders broke throughout her body as she cried out, fighting to clamp her legs yet thrusting her hips at his face.

Heat overwhelmed her cunt again. But one that made her ache deeply. _“Jaime, please.”_

For the first time, she felt how _naked_ she was. She whimpered at the newness of it—the ice, Jaime’s lips rubbing on her newly-revealed skin. The ice fell, almost unnoticed. Jaime grabbed her hips, his lips stubbornly fused to her clit. Her moans blended with his loud, wet slurps.

“Jaime,” she panted, feeling strength slowly draining from her legs. She twisted the ear in her fist and he growled, pulling away from her cunt with much resistance. She blushed at how his nose and lips shone.

_“I fucking want you, Brienne.”_

Suddenly, he tossed her on the desk. Her arms automatically clung to his shoulders when he shot to his feet, grabbing her by the face and kissing her feverishly. She dragged him down on the desk with her, spreading her legs, rubbing her cunt against his furry stomach. He chuckled and grunted as her legs wrapped tightly around his back.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He whispered between kisses.

“No,” she panted.  She cupped his head, staring at him hungrily. “You are. Gods. There’s no one like you.”

He grinned and slammed his mouth on her.

She lay down, her feet sensuously gliding up and down his furry back as their tongues sparred. The costume was beginning to irritate her. She was mad for Jaime’s skin. _His body._ Just his body and nothing else. “How does this open?” She gasped, trying to wrench it off him. “Jaime, take this off. Gods. Please, please.”

He laughed. “Hold on, this is a rental.”

She giggled, reluctantly letting him go. She sat up too, undoing the hooks of her bustier while Jaime unzipped the costume. He grinned as she tossed away the garment, leaving her in just the silk bunny ears and stockings.  He dragged the zipper down, revealing the plain white tee and black boxer shorts underneath.

“Get over here,” she commanded him, but her tone quiet, almost gentle. He gestured at the suit he still had to pull off. She shook her head, blushing, her nipples tightening into pink points. He licked his lips while staring at them.

“So eager,” he murmured as she grabbed him by the t-shirt. He laughed as she played with the bunny ears.

“Keep these on?” She asked, turning pink.

His teeth flashed white in the dark. “Kinky, Brienne.”

“You started it,” she whispered.  

She pressed her lips to his, wrapping him in her arms and legs. This time, cotton, bands of warm, golden skin alternated with the fur she touched and rubbed against her. She nibbled on the tip of his ear as he fondled her tits, pinching her nipples to draw a gasp. She hummed as his lips traveled down the side of her neck, licking her freckles until their mouths met again. She licked him, sucked his tongue and tasted herself.

She turned to rake her teeth down his neck, kiss the pulse at the base of his throat. He shook one of his arms free from the sleeve of the onesie. She gasped as his bare palm pressed on her cheek, and she kissed him on the palm, as he had earlier.

It was _heaven_ having his hand on her naked skin—on her arm, cupping her tits and thumbing her nipple. She shook and felt her cunt wet the mahogany some more as flesh and fur caressed her, and warm, warm tongue pushed deep into her mouth. She slipped her arms under his tee, loving the feel of his sweaty back, the muscles.

Jaime ran his knuckles between her tits as they kissed, circled a finger around her navel before palming her cunt. The feel of his calloused hand on a part of her that was so, so smooth made her shriek his name. He claimed her mouth again, thrusting his tongue back inside as a finger entered her cunt.

_“Jaime.”_

_“Fuck, Brienne.”_

She squeaked and grunted through their kiss as his finger fucked her hard, deeply, _roughly_.

She’d fling a prayer of thanks to the Seven if his tongue wasn’t in her mouth.

In and out his finger slammed inside her, punctuated with wet slaps of flesh and smacking kisses. Jaime inside her—his tongue, his fingers, his cock, always felt like a gift from the Seven. But having him rub her bare cunt awakened new sensations. His deliciously _wicked_ finger, weaving magic and sparks as it thrust in and out of her, getting shinier with each pass, touching areas once covered in hair.

She managed to pull away from his kisses, but his arm around her back trapped her against him, let her cunt take the sensual abuse. It was too much. She felt tight _all over_. And full. So full.  “Jaime,” she panted, fucking his finger right back. “Jaime, I think—”

Stunned, she shrieked as something gave away in her body and burst from her cunt. Something wet. Jaime’s finger froze inside her.

“Seven hells,” he breathed. _“You squirt?”_

Too dazed to answer, she could only watch the liquid bursting from her cunt and onto Jaime’s palm. There was only a moment of quiet and then he was kissing her again, harder than before, and two fingers now pushing in her cunt the. She gasped, her hips moving furiously against his fingers as more liquid squirted from her cunt.

Robbed of strength, she collapsed on desk, taking him with her. He kissed her on the cheek as he pulled his fingers out. Dazed sapphire eyes watched him lick his gleaming fingers. He winked at her.

“How do you taste better each time?”

She blushed.

“I’m never going to see a blue bunny and not be aroused again,” he said, lowering his boxers just far enough to reveal his cock. She smiled and purred at the column of flesh pointed straight at her.

“How are you bigger each time?”

He grinned and put himself between her legs. She sighed, her spine curving up as he began to thrust in her. “Maybe we should have gone home,” she moaned, rolling her hips in response. She was still pouring but struggled to fit around his cock. “Your father will kill us for what we did on his desk.”

“He won’t if we get another baby out of it,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. She licked him. “Remember, fucking on his bed got us the twins.”

She burst out laughing and cupped his ass under the onesie. “You sound very sure of that.”

“You gave birth exactly nine months since that day, love.” He thrust slowly in her, acquiring a rhythm that made her all warm and melty from the inside. “How do I feel?”

“The best thing inside me.” She cooed dreamily. “Harder, please?”

He kissed her hard on the mouth. “Though you’d never ask.”

He pulled out and lunged hard back inside, drawing a husky cry. His lips on her throat, he repeated the motion, pushing harder inside with each return. He removed her legs from around his waist, planted her feet on opposite edges of the desk to open her wider. She groaned as his cock rubbed and slid on past her slit that never knew his touch until now. He licked the clear pearls of sweat from her neck, sucked the skin when she moaned and moved against him, inviting a faster pace.

He obliged.

_“Oh, Jaime. So, so good.”_

She squealed when he suddenly twisted her nipple, bringing about white-hot pain. A second later, his mouth clamped over hers, muffling her cries until they were whimpers. She buried her nails on his back as he continued pinching her nipple and pounding her cunt. Pain and pleasure, ecstasy and torment.

A hard pull of her nipple and she felt it again, something giving away inside and fountaining out of her. He roared as her cunt squirted around his battering cock, the sounds wet, obscene squeaks of yielding flesh. She watched his lips curled in a snarl, the bunny ears fluttering as he fucked her one more time, twice more, a third—

_“Brienne!”_

Her name was a guttural sound ripped from his throat. His neck arched, the veins straining under the golden skin. The familiar, warm gush of his semen filled her. A shout then he fell on top of her.

Her legs, zapped of strength, fell.

As Jaime caught his breath while resting his head between her tits, Brienne gazed at the full moon through the window. There were no stars, just moon and dark sky. It had an eerie, fascinating beauty. Tenderly, she pushed at the top of his costume, freeing his damp golden hair. He sighed and raised his head. Firm lips smirked at her.

“Still itchy?”

She shook her head. “My hero.”

He kissed her and got up. She continue to lie on the desk, content to just watch him right his shirt, tuck his cock back in his underwear. She was almost sorry when he zipped up his costume, once again looking like a fluffy blue bunny, except for the devilish, knowing gleam in is eyes. He helped her off the desk.

She found her bustier and he helped her in it, attaching the hooks one by one. He kissed her on the shoulder before retrieving the thong from his pocket. He grinned at her blush when he insisted on helping her with it too.

Realizing how wet and sticky she was, she asked, “Does your father keep a tissue here somewhere?”

“Maybe he does, but I’d rather not know,” he said, kneeling before her spreading the thong. He sniffed. “Ah. That’s my favorite perfume in the world.”

“You’re so vulgar,” she whispered, stepping into them. “Just because he has tissues here it doesn’t mean he. . .um,” she reddened and stammered, “plays with his joystick.”

“Baby, that’s the only reason a man would have tissues nearby.” He pulled the thong up her thighs. Before covering her completely, he kissed her right on the slit. “Your pussy feels unbelievable, but I still prefer hair.”

Brienne blushed and he got back to his feet. She removed the headband holding the bunny ears to pat her hair flat. While Jaime picked up the ice bucket from the floor, she pulled at the thong. It was still damp and clingy. 

“We should go home,” he said, returning the ice bucket to the sideboard.

“I agree,” she said meeting him and embracing him. He hugged her back. “I might start getting itchy again.”

“Yeah, and the remedy is best given in bed,” he said suggestively. He sniffed her neck. “Also because you smell fresh from a fuck, my love.”

Her cheeks flared red, so he kissed her. _“I like it._ I’m tempted to show you off, smelling so sexy and mine but I’m not forgetting how Robert was looking at you earlier. And Tyrion.”

Brienne shook her head. “They’re ridiculous, and Cersei and Marge know what to do.”

“They shouldn’t have been staring at my wife in the first place.” He said, putting his arm around her waist.

“Can we get some takeout on the way?” She asked, switching off the lamp just before they left the study.

“I have a hankering for a cheeseburger with everything on it myself.” He said. He grinned. “And warm, moist apple pie.”

As he spoke, he stared between her thighs again. Brienne bit back a smile and pulled him out of the room.

 

*****  
Ten counts before their heavy footsteps completely disappeared.

Seven Hells, Tywin Lannnister thought, slipping out from behind the bookshelves once the coast was clear. He was still clutching the tobacco he had been about to light earlier.

There was no mistaking the scent of fucking and sweat. He flicked on the light from a wall switch. Jaime and Brienne had not touched anything else. But his desk. His precious antique mahogany. It was smeared and stained. They had also done it in his bed! And by the Seven, he didn’t know whether to be proud that Jaime was a roaring lion in the conference room as well as in private or pinch him on the ear for fucking Brienne. . .how, exactly? He just expected Jaime to have some class, if possible. He certainly never spoke to Joanna that way, the Seven bless her beautiful soul.

Tywin lit up his pipe and left the room, eager to get back to the ball. He could easily replace his fifteen thousand dragon antique desk, but he had loved it.

No way to take back the promise about matching the amount of two hundred thousand golden dragons, he thought as the guards opened the doors for him. As the revelry whooshed toward him, he smirked. Ah, there was one thing he could do: bill Jaime for his new desk. Yes. Absolutely, yes.

And the only way for him to forgive his son and daughter-in-law for damaging a precious, rare antique was another grandchild nine months from this night.

He clamped his lips around the pipe, emerald eyes twinkling. A granddaughter would be lovely. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for coming.
> 
> I mean, thank you for reading the mindless smut!


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